


beyond good and evil

by herrscher



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, l:w finds him before he is meant to advance and it qualifies for Emotional Time, sometimes it is just Like That(tm), this is the effects of reading nietzsche, worked this from 400 to 1400 words in a half hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herrscher/pseuds/herrscher
Summary: anyone who despises himself will still respect himself as a despiser. // apostasia and lofty: wanderer introspective





	beyond good and evil

the corruption that laces his arms - that which mars his face - burns.

part of him believes it to be the fault of the man before him; an apostate, a celestial fallen and irreverent of their goddess, consumed by that which had contained that known as "ainchase ishmael" for five centuries before. how may he have such apathy, to be content with his established lot, care not about the goddess' absence, lack of her power and guidance? 

it is a thought he fears, one he shared with executor mere weeks prior, when the taint on his skin first began to spread - that of their future selves, what they were destined to become. their expected places in existence, as two placed on opposite sides of the spectrum of self; executor is destined to become the vassal of the goddess, the one who serves as her sword, divine punishment incarnate, ever stalwart - that which acts in accordance with her will. as for himself...

the other is apostasia, wanderer thinks, gaze falling upon the other. his hair remains unkempt, form corroded by the telltale marks of henir, contrasting shades of blue so different from the hue of creation. he keeps it unconcealed... why? does he not consider it as a sign of betrayal, or of heresy? to be so proud in one's own apostasy as to wear it proudly, without cover, as though her eyes could not see him... can she view that which was hers, does she feel agony over the destruction of something that once was divine? does she cry, calls falling upon deaf ears, ones that once wished to hear but no longer endeavor to do so, not out of a lack of ability but a brazen desire to forsake his creator? does ishmael mourn over him?

his right hand grips his left arm, fingertips dig into the bandages, nails pressed through to the skin beneath, tainted and tarnished with the same unsightly color; his eyes squeeze shut -- it burns. neither breaks the silence built between them, neither endeavoring to speak before the other does until apostasia's lips part - their existences alone, as souls in this moment, are not enough of an argument; words are necessary, and wanderer cannot stomach himself to speak them.

his eyes are blank, almost, taken by the hue of henir, rings manifested inside that make them look nearly as deep as the void which has consumed him. it is almost as though he is staring through wanderer, rather than at him. what a strange concept, truly. "is there a grievance you would like to voice," a tone unfeeling permeates the air as his voice cuts through like a knife, "or has my existence alone offended you to the point where words will not suffice?"

it is a direct threat, a motion against their goddess, their creator, truly - such a being, as to defy her will... it takes all of wanderer's emotional strength to keep himself from materializing a projection weapon with what little connection he still has to her. the motion of his hand in response to apostasia's words seems to hint that to him more than enough, eyes opening a bit wider in reaction to it. such a thing seems to be... a shock? is the other confused, or surprised, that a being doomed to meet his same existence would endeavor to harm or kill him?

"you are disgusted." wanderer's eyes open, avert at the statement. his grip on his own arm does not falter, rather, it tightens in response to the emotionless tone the other takes, even though he speaks in reference to disdain aimed toward himself. the words he speaks betray the lack of feeling, though. "i understand. you cannot blame her, so you blame me. you blame yourself."

"i am not you!" his eyes squeeze shut once more, and he backs away from the other - the grip he has on his skin is too harsh, and his nails break through the bandages which cover his form, tear into the flesh beneath; it is too human, far too human, the wet which coats his fingertips. it is human, far too human, the pain he feels from such an action. "i... i am not destined to be like you! i will return to her, i will return to her good graces and...!"

"and what?" apostasia interrupts; the facade of unfeeling fades for mere seconds before he regains his countenance - emotion is of henir, though, and even that is naught in his control. "what will you endeavor to do, beyond that?"

"i..." before he can respond, the other continues.

"you are a broken tool. your vessel corrupt, and your core irreparable, what use would she have for you? what mission might you hope to complete, intolerable of her light and unable to seek her guidance?" his face twists into a grimace, betrayal of his oft emotionless demeanor. "do not fool yourself into believing there is another choice, or a second chance to be found. were there, i would not exist as i do now."

"you gave up!" he practically cries out. "were i in your place, i...!"

"do you think i would have given up were it all not for naught, in the end?!" apostasia's sadness twists to anger. "do you believe me a fool, as though i would not attempt to restore my link with her, to seek out all means of which to purify myself of the curse which henir bestowed?!" apostasia reaches out, grabs onto wanderer's arm, which does naught more than rip a whine from the other at the sudden contact, sudden motion. the other tries to pull from his grip with no success to speak of, and his voice falls low, almost to the tone of a growl. "do you believe yourself unique, lofty wanderer?!"

"i...!" he rips his arm back, bandages falling to the floor afront him with one successful pull. how unfortunate they look, piled upon the ground indignantly, with a complete lack of regard. blood stains where wanderer's nails once dug, where apostasia's hand pressed hard against, on the fabric. "i would not accept it, unlike you! you are fine, like this?! fine to fall apart, to remain out of her light?!"

"you still believe it conscious choice?" his face betrays not his disgust, for he wears it plain upon it, and in his voice as well. "you still think this is what i wanted? would it be better to be repentant, for all of my life?! to beg at her feet, when reaching her is nigh possible?!" 

"and reaching her is necessary to be repentant?!"

"what use is repentance when i will remain as i am regardless?!" he growls. "you are so foolish, as to believe that begging for pity will get you anywhere. do you not see where that blind faith has placed you? has asking for her help done anything for your corruption? regardless of your cries, it will spread. it will overwhelm and overcome you, and then you will lose your faith in her, just as i have. you will resign yourself to the void, as that is all which accepts you. you will accept henir as you, and yourself as henir - there is no signal as to where you stop and henir begins, and vice versa."

"that's..." wanderer purses his lips, gaze falling to the side once more.

"you will accept the futility of it all. you will curse those who believe blessings will come to those who merely ask for them - where are your blessings? where was your savior, when all was lost? your body falling apart, how can anyone hope to claim that those who watch over us are fair and just?"

"you're...!"

"i'm what?!" apostasia's voice erupts from anger. "i'm scaring you? i'm upsetting you, because this is the truth i have seen, and the being that i have become?! do you wish to live in blind faith, hoping that she may hear your cries, restore your form? why would she restore what she could merely make once more?!"

"she would not forsake me!" tears spill forth from wanderer's eyes, and apostasia turns away, almost as though he does not wish to see. "she... goddess ishmael would not..."

"... you are in denial." apostasia sighs - his demeanor fades to emotionless once more. "she already has. can you not see?"

"... what?" wanderer sounds broken, confused. such an unfortunate thing to hear, and an unfortunate existence to have. apostasia shakes his head, falls silent. perhaps it's something the other would learn in time, rather than being told. wanderer remains quiet, as well, staring at his right hand, the blood that remains under his nails and the corruption that traces the back of his fingers.

perhaps the silence is better than truth.


End file.
